


Nothing More Than You Are Willing To Give

by Dior_Dior



Series: Leather and Gold [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, POV First Person, Romance, Short, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 14:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dior_Dior/pseuds/Dior_Dior
Summary: Bridget Tabris reflects on how her life is changing, and how she feels about a certain Antivan assassin whom she recently spared from death. Though charming, her past and inexperience hinder her from fully accepting his advances. In her new role as one of the only Ferelden Grey Wardens left, she learns how to juggle her responsibilities, overcome her past, and both submit to and control her desires.





	Nothing More Than You Are Willing To Give

##  [ Leather and Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/series/993096)

###  [](https://archiveofourown.org/series/993096)[ Part 1: Nothing More Than You Are Willing To Give](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14191062)

Mirrors were expensive and hard to come by, and as I gazed into ours I tried to accept the things I was privileged to have that the majority of the Alienage would never see. We did, of course, keep it hidden to prevent it from being stolen, but today I examined my reflection and tried to calm my nerves before giving my life away to a man I had never met. At least, that was how I saw it. He could be the gentlest, kindest elf in the world, and handsome to boot (which, I had to admit after seeing him, he was), but that would never take away the feeling that I was being forced to give up myself, and to walk another’s path. I did not abhor marriage, or the idea of me being married, but I felt very young as I looked in the mirror, although my reflection told me that I was a beautiful woman. Shianni had dusted black powder around my eyes to bring out the amber hiding behind light brown irises, and rouged my lips with a brick-red pigment, attempting to showcase their plumpness. My skin had almost always been a deep tan, partially due to my heritage and partially to the sun beating down in the alienage day after day. While humans would certainly mock elves for their dark skin, unable to prevent the tan, I did not mind it, and found that the wedding clothes given to me looked even whiter and more beautiful in contrast to my tawny breast. My hair was braided and twisted to reveal my slender, pointed ears and cheekbones. Papa had always said my hair was the colour of champagne, like my Mama, and that made me proud and sad at the same time. I wondered, would I ever try champagne? 

The wedding clothes hugged my body and I wore them proudly; they were passed down through three generations and barely precious stones glinted along the hemlines. I was never going to be ready to hand over my future to someone, but at least I looked the part. And as I believed, that was mostly what mattered. 

I walked towards the raised wooden platform where the woman from the Chantry waited to give us the Maker’s blessing and perform the union. I disliked the Maker. Andraste, Andraste I did indeed believe in and pray to, but the Maker I had little faith in. Was it not ironic that the Maker’s desire for Andraste led to her downfall, that the man she was married to was her death? Nelaros was certainly not Maferath, and I knew I could become fond of him, but this was not my desire, not yet. Was love too much to hope for? Would I ever know it? 

Soris looked worse off than me, though he did indeed cut a handsome figure in his own wedding clothes. I flashed him a sympathetic smile as I climbed the steps. I was the oldest out of the trio that was myself, Soris, and Shianni, and felt it my duty to lead, set an example, and take care of us. In a way, I think that extended throughout the Alienage, and I could feel the happiness of the onlookers as they expressed their good wishes to me, without malice, hoping for the best for me, a girl with a bright future. We had hidden some of my lineage, the skills Mama had taught me and my inclination to rogueish behaviour, from Nelaros, but he would learn soon enough. 

I turned to my betrothed, waiting to say words the ceremony dictated for us, when suddenly the sky darkened. Clouds came from nowhere, and rained down upon us. But it was not rain. Bright red dots bloomed and spread along my pristine white top, and we were all showered in blood. My heart raced, and as I stared, Nelaros’ throat slit of its own accord, and hot, thick blood gushed down his front. I screamed and the tears that fell down my face were also bloody. I dropped down and grabbed Nelaros, but he was dead. Suddenly, I felt someone grasping my bare, bloody shoulders and turned to face them, knowing that it would be Vaughan. Screaming and reaching for a blade that would normally be there, I wrenched my body. 

But then I woke up. 

Alistair said that Grey Wardens had nightmares. Indeed, I had had some. But my nightmares were not always demons, dragons and darkspawn. The worst ones were my past, my failures, my family and, worst of all, my doomed wedding day. Real tears streaked my face and I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I drank water from my flask and walked to the fire. 

“Nightmare?” Alistair asked. I nodded, and he did not pry, Andraste bless him. He was a kind man, albeit a bit unserious, but I enjoyed his company and found comfort in his friendship and our common bond, being the last of the Ferelden Wardens.

“Should we wake the others, and continue on to the Circle?”

“No,” I said, “let them continue sleeping.” The sky was still starry and there was likely another hour or two until dawn. We had to be on our toes for sure, but I was not in a hurry to leave quite yet. Alistair was all the company I needed for now; I was not ready for Morrigan’s abrasiveness so soon after my nightmare. My hound, Declan, wandered over to us and I rested against him, closing my eyes and letting the heat of the fire wash over me. It burned on the ring I wore on my finger, the wedding band Nelaros had crafted for me so finely, the ring I had kept out of respect and remembrance, my only physical tie to my old life, besides my mother’s boots. 

* * *

Wynne was comforting, motherly, and wise, from what I could tell. She had chosen to join us after that horror at the Circle Tower, and I was happy to have her. I had long conversations with her at camp, and she had no prejudice against elves, from what I could tell. She helped me adjust to the idea of being a Warden, and though it was still hard, I thanked her for it. 

“How did you become a Grey Warden, Bridget?” she asked me. 

When I explained to her the truth, knowing that with her, it was safe to do so, she apologized. 

“Please don’t apologize, I wouldn’t have shared if I did not wish to,” I said. “I...Nelaros was my betrothed but it was an arranged marriage, I had never met him prior. He was, of course, deserving of a much better life but I am not emotionally bound to him. My feelings are more complex. I am angry, hurt, and I want justice I know I will likely never get. I don’t think being a Grey Warden will help me find peace with my past but at the very least, I am not under the thumb of sadistic and unchecked nobles like Vaughan anymore, and for that I am thankful. With that, I can try to move on.”

Wynne smiled and we talked some more, about me, about her, about the Circles and the Wardens, and no nightmares came when I went to sleep that night. I rested, steeling my mind for the long trip to the Frostbacks we would set out on the next morning. 

* * *

Something was off about the woman. I couldn’t say what, but my Warden senses tingled and I had no time to object before she hustled towards a caravan. With nary a warning, we were ambushed and fighting for our lives against a group of rogues and mages that fought ferociously. There was an elf in particular, that was giving me an especially hard time and it was hard to make anything out in the flurry of daggers and limbs as we danced a deadly tango. When the rest of the group was dead, he was the last, groaning on the ground and clutching his chest. 

“I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

Adrenaline rushed through my body and I could feel the tension from my companions as they waited for me to make a decision, no doubt assuming I would send him to a quick death. But I was curious and on edge, this man was clearly after us specifically, not just unlucky travellers on the road. 

“I have some questions,” I said without intonation. 

Surprisingly, he was immediately forthright, which I wasn’t sure should heighten or lower my suspicion. I listened cautiously. 

“My name is Zevran,” he had a thick accent I had never heard and tried to place, focusing carefully to avoid misunderstanding. “I am a member of the Antivan Crows, brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any remaining Grey Wardens. Which I have failed at, sadly.”

So he was Antivan. I was no cartographer, but I knew that was a long way away. An Antivan Crow? The name sounded familiar. When I asked about them, Leliana explained. 

“Someone went to great expense to hire this man,” she concluded. 

“Back where I come from, we’re rather infamous.” 

Though I tried to curb my cockiness, I mocked the man. 

“Not for being good assassins, I see.”

Zevran explained his contract and we were unsurprised to discover Loghain was behind it. Disappointed, however. Even after Ostagar’s events I still wouldn't have expected Loghain to stoop down to hiring assassins. But what advantage would this man have of making up such a detail? There was clearly a lot about Loghain we did not know. It was also enough to know this man was not loyal to him. But was he loyal to anyone? I did not doubt he was an assassin, but I wasn’t sure how they operated in loyalty. I meant to find out. 

“And now, that you’ve failed that service, what happens?” I asked him. 

“Well,” Zevran answered, “I wasn’t intended to fail. If I had succeeded I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results...if he didn’t already know. If I failed, I would be dead.” He observed himself and smirked. “Or, I should be, at least as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.”

No wonder he answered my questions. As far as he could tell, he was dead either way, from his employers back home, or from my hand. I was the mistress of his fate now, as it were. Somehow, the thought was thrilling but also weighed heavy. 

He continued, echoing my thoughts. 

“Although the chances of succeeding at this point seem a bit slim, don’t they?” He laughed, the eternal optimist it seemed; against myself, I found it a bit endearing. “No, I don’t suppose you’d find that funny, would you?”

At least Loghain had had to pay a handsome sum to try and assassinate us. I think I would have been a bit hurt if we weren’t worth a large amount. Morbid, maybe, but it puffed my chest a bit and I think if I were in this man’s shoes, in his line of work, I would have accepted it. Then again though, considering the legends surrounding Grey Wardens maybe not. This man had either never heard of us, was insane, or had a death wish. Because though he clearly had skill, he was not good enough to be that cocky. None of these options sounded like a good life to me, and when he mentioned he wasn’t even the one being paid, I wondered why he did it at all. 

“Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition I suppose it’s because I wasn’t given much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I’m led to believe.”

He could have been bluffing. Trying to garner my sympathy, spare his life. But he did not put on any airs, there was no self-pity. I believed him. And it resonated with me. No choice, leading a life cut out for you. I had never been sold to an assassin’s guild but, the dowry my father paid had never sat well with me, as if spouses were to be bought and sold. 

Again he seemed to read my mind. 

“But don’t let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren’t so bad. They keep one well supplied: wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy.”

It sounded like the lie one tells themselves after they have accepted their lot in life. I didn’t doubt his words, I doubted how much they compensated for what he was forced to do. 

“Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I’d really think twice about it.” I had to fight to keep my face neutral, and cleared my throat to stifle a giggle. Apparently the face of death had a habit of bringing out the comedian in people. The blight really did bring people together. 

“Thanks, I’ll take that under advisement,” I said, raising an eyebrow and barely keeping my lips from simply twitching. 

“I am curious, I can see you don’t have much to lose,” I said, “but why are you telling me all this?”

He chuckled. “Why not? I wasn’t paid for silence. Loyalty is an interesting concept.”

He proposed to join me, to serve me. I was not shocked at the offer, but I was shocked that my instincts told me to accept. Andraste guide me, I prayed. He explained in detail why he would not turn on me, or how he would be useful, but he needn’t have bothered. I already had made up my mind and continued to question him for my companions’ benefit. I doubt they would be so easily appeased. But I believed him, even if his lavish attempts to flatter our looks fell on flat ears. I suppressed a snort when he called me a “sex goddess”; surely this man was joking?

“Very well, you may join us.” I said. Everyone was shocked, least of all Zevran, judging from his face. It took some persuading to convince them it was not a terrible idea. I helped Zevran off the ground and we healed his wounds. During the bustle I had not even noticed how handsome he was. Perhaps that is why he was purchased to join the Crows, surely good looks helped an assassin; judging from his many comments, he relied on that charm and allure and flirtation to do his job. I would have been wary, but I didn’t allow him to join because he thought I was pretty. He would be useful. And I saw something in him that deserved saving. 

Now who was the eternal optimist?

* * *

I would be lying to say I was not attracted to our Antivan companion. His voice alone threw my head into a tizzy. He was a thing of beauty, smooth and swarthy skin covering taut muscle. Even his tattoos had an allure. I had not seen many with tattoos in my lifetime, though I had heard that the Dalish covered themselves in them to honour the Elven gods. Were there Dalish in Antiva? I would ask, but it seemed rude. Sometimes in between my nightmares I dreamed of his face, unbidden but welcome, staring at me with golden eyes full of intent while a devilish smile played on his enticing lips, begging to be kissed. I would wake and my stomach was filled with butterflies, heart racing. During the day, I kept a cool demeanor and ignored his flirtations; it wouldn’t do to let the assassin win me over, in case it was all part of a grander scheme. 

Truthfully, as well, I was not sure what stuff I was made of in that department. Though I was almost in my 20th year, I had never given myself to anyone yet. I simply had never truly been interested, I think, having known everyone in the Alienage my entire life and my closest friends being my cousins. Could I be flirtatious and desirable? Certainly, but what was the point? Especially if my life was meant to be handed over to an arranged husband anyway. I thought about it, and realized that even if I was signed into this new life, I had options. I could love or pursue whomever I wished, if I had the time. The blight did indeed take precedence. But now, if I could find some pleasure in the companionship of another, was this not precisely the time to do so? If I would die young, and if I survived this blight, die gruesomely with a body succumbed to the taint, was it not my right to at least enjoy this life to the fullest when I could?

I had wanted romance. I truly still did. I had always known I would have a family, as a duty. I would have children for my father to spoil and to pass on what my own mother taught me. But now that was almost certainly taken away. There was no romantic future, no family future for a Warden. Maybe throwing myself into the strong arms of a sexy assassin was not the worst decision in the world, if it was my own and covered up the emptiness.  
And so I did not deny his flirtations, did not brush them off, and combated them with my own. Wynne, concerned, mentioned it once but I explained myself, and though she did not seem to approve necessarily, it seemed as though she found something in my words that she identified with. I knew that would not be the last of it, but I would have this small bit of selfishness. Thedas was relying on us, so Andraste help me, I would have some modicum of reprieve. The only inconvenience was the nagging in the back of my mind, telling me I wanted more. 

I shoved it away and we all pressed on. 

* * *

I liked to think that we were safe in camp, because anyone passing by could smell Oghren from a mile away. His pungency was as likely to keep away intruders as anything else. No one in their right mind would want to get any closer to his unique aroma of ale, sweat, and vomit. He smelled so much like alcohol, and was more often than not drunk, so much so that I worried if he walked too near the fire he would simply set ablaze. He was, without a doubt, disgusting, and I had to wonder how on earth he had ever secured a wife. Then I remembered that Branka was, indeed, insane. I did not want to think any more of it. 

Maybe he was not always so drunk. Losing your wife, even if she was insane and in some sort of twisted relationship with you, must be hard. Simply losing a man I was betrothed to and had just met was hard enough. I tried to have some compassion for him as he mistook me for Hespith before passing out. Killing Branka had unfortunately been necessary. As helpful as golems would be, the Anvil had to be destroyed. I would sacrifice much, but I would not force others to make that sacrifice. And as insane as Branka and ruthless as Bhelen were, I did not trust them with that kind of power either. So the sacrifice was the Anvil itself. I knew Zevran disapproved some, but I remained firm, asking him if he would be the first to be turned into a golem. The decision weighed heavy, but not as heavy as the lives I know would be forced to endure the agony of the molten lyrium as their lives were ripped away. Besides, if we all survived this, what would happen to the golems, what would the dwarves do with this power? It was simply too risky. If the paragon Caridin himself opposed it, that was a good indication for me. And Shayle was grateful. I was surprised to see how much she warmed up to me, in her own stony way. I think it was due to my everlasting sarcasm.  
I was entirely tired of the Deep Roads, but I had promised her after Bhelen’s coronation that we would search for Cadash Thaig, and try to decipher her past. There was no point in leaving and coming back and I did not want to force her to leave us, so we set up camp under the big starry sky once more and prepared ourselves to journey once more underground. 

I wandered away from the haze surrounding Oghren’s stout, unconscious form and found Zevran in the camp, close to where Declan was digging in the dirt. Away from the dwarf, I was actually able to breathe in fresh air.  
Zevran had, over time, opened up to me. He even taught me assassin skills and was genuinely impressed with how quickly I excelled. He detailed the uses of poison, and showed me how to make deadly concoctions to coat my blades, my arrows, and to store in flasks I could throw at my enemies, leaving them in a noxious cloud before picking them off. Our conversations were, to say the least, littered throughout with his trademark innuendoes and I would indulge them. To my chagrin, I was nervous sometimes, wondering if I would actually take the plunge to seek him out for services he so casually offered to others. It was quite amusing to see Leliana turn him down and berate him. I cursed myself for seeking his attention, falling prey to these lines, and kept my head above it all, aloof and cool. I hadn’t decided yet if I was just being a fool and falling for his charm, or seeking him of my own volition and attraction. Sometimes his brazen lines actually turned me away. I did want to be chased, I supposed, even if I didn’t want romance. 

The reason, however, I was not completely turned off was our conversations. Even just listening to him idly revealed a great deal of intelligence and wit, and he seemed to know much about the world. I enjoyed these conversations, and listened intently while he told me of Antiva, or about his jobs for the Crows. Tonight it seemed that, after all the commotion in the Deep Roads, he was more wistful than usual about his homeland. 

“I miss the leather the most,” he said. I looked at him curiously, but understood when he explained. He expressed his regret when he mentioned the boots. 

“Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship...Ah but I was a fool to leave them.”

I thought of my own mother’s boots, I wore them every day kept the supple leather in good shape to prevent them from falling into disrepair. His own love of leather and regret of not purchasing the boots resonated with me. It made him more real to me than anything he had said yet, and I saw someone, something underneath, that related to me, and that I wanted. 

“One simply never knows what is to come next,” he continued. How could I have suspected I would end up defeated by a beautiful Grey Warden, a woman who then spares my life? I could not.”

There was sincerity there, not just empty flattery and I for once hoped, beyond my own rationality, that something more was there, for me and for me alone. That I was special. I could almost believe it. 

“‘Beautiful’, is it?”

“I say you are beautiful because it is true. Should I not?”

My heart sank slightly, wondering if it was just his standard observation, but I would not sink. 

“No, by all means.”

“And glad I am to hear it.” His voice was warm and I believed. 

But something ugly reared its head and I was unable to stop myself before asking, colour rising to my cheeks.

“You must have quite a history.” I tried to hide my nervousness, keep the cool facade. “With women, I mean.”

He seemed a bit surprised and chuckled, asking if I really wanted to know. I would not let him see the embarrassment.

“I asked, didn’t I?”

I was worried I would be horrified, or disgusted, or simply angry, because I knew that he was no innocent virgin. But there was no bravado, just explanation of his life, his job, his duty. He found pleasure in his work because that made it worthwhile. I couldn’t blame him. I was locked into a life I could not escape, would it be better of me to bemoan it, or live it to the fullest. I found I almost pitied him. Surely, he had as little experience of romance as I. I certainly was not as experienced as him, or had even had that experience, but I did not feel at a loss for it. If anything, I thought that perhaps he was the one who was at a loss, though I could not explain why.

“It...it sounds like you have been through a lot.” I said to him.

“Ahh, it’s just old scars and nothing more which you see. Ignore them as I do, and perhaps they’ll go away.”

Well, that seemed unhealthy but now I understood. I could tell he was brushing it all off, his old life, regrets and memories. Weren’t we all? Wasn’t I? I held nothing against him and was happy I had asked my question, even if the result was unexpected. 

“Enough of the past,” he said. “It is what lies ahead that is worthwhile, no?”

It certainly was. I had decided. I had decided that if I were to give into my desires it was alright. That sneaking pleasure in amongst the pain was acceptable and necessary. Maybe it would be wrong to do so with him, but my instincts told me that he was actually the best person to choose. He understood. He encouraged it. I didn’t like to think that I would use someone, but if we both complied was that really being used? Or was it just making the most of our situation, of giving into our natures and finding that pleasure in the pain. As long as one of us didn’t end up breaking our necks afterwards, anyways. 

Before I could give myself the option to turn away and run from my feelings, I plunged into my next question. 

“I...I wanted to ask something personal, Zevran.” 

He was intrigued. 

Too late to go back now, I asked, “Would you care to join me in my tent?”

He almost looked surprised, as though I all along had also just been skillfully flirting with no desire for any consequence, which was not entirely untrue, up until recently. Maybe after all our talking now, he just thought I was desperate, or pitiful, or had really  
simply been full of flattery and had no desire to join me anywhere. 

We batted euphemisms back and forth and I tried my best to ensure he knew I really meant it, before sauntering towards my tent. I almost didn’t expect him to follow me but he trotted after me two seconds later.  
No one else had apparently heard our conversation and for the most part, were either in their own tents or paid us no heed, focused on some activity or other. My tent was pitched away from the group, beside a small fire, and I had a cluster of glowstones inside that gave off as much or little light as I desired. 

His eyes had changed and I did not recognize the light in them as he helped me remove my leather. Somehow, he managed to smell good. Not like sweat, or blood, but as though he had taken a perfumed bath. Truthfully, I imagined that is what he did normally, come to think of it. Without ceremony he removed his clothing, down to his smallclothes, and moved towards me to help me do the same. His body was a marvel uncovered. The tattoos on his face were replicated over his body, curving along his shoulder blades, accentuating his muscle in enticing patterns. His hair was an ashen colour in the glowstone light, and was loose from its normal braid. His face, attractive enough on its own, took on a new quality as he inched towards me, and I desired it.  
But as my armour fell and I realized what was happening, I felt fear and uncertainty. Lust mingled with hesitance and I bit it down, willing myself to accept this, and accept that I wanted this. I did, I knew I did, something just didn’t seem right.  
I must have been tense.

“Is something wrong?” Zevran asked.

“I need to confess that...Zevran I have never been with anything before, the Alienage did not exactly provide me with a host of lovers.” I think a part of me wished this would make him turn away, laugh and ridicule me and leave me to my uncertainty.  
Instead, he looked at me with tenderness and understanding. 

“My lady, I am honoured then that you have asked me to share in this moment with you. Perhaps I can make this easier for you, then.” Without warning and before I could object, he moved down my naked form and placed his lips between my legs. 

The sensation was warm where I was cold and took my breath away, both for the unexpectedness and for the sensation. I tried to revel in it as he applied his tongue, his lips and even his dexterous fingers. I knew he was skillful, as even though my mind protested, I involuntarily moved my hips in and out of his face. But it was not enough, and my mind won out. It would not let me sink into this, not like this. Something was wrong and my mind denied my body its desire.  
Unexpectedly, tears dropped from my eyes and I could not continue, I pulled away. Surprised, Zevran looked up and his eyes widened upon seeing the tears.

“Bridget, have...what is wrong? Did I do something to offend?”

“Zevran, I am sorry, I thought, I was ready, I wanted...I want you but, my mind will not let me, I am so sorry.”

“Do not apologize,” Zevran said, “I understand that to some it is difficult to lose their virginity.”

Was it that? I don’t think I was afraid, I think that I wanted more than this. I wanted someone to want me, be worthy of me. I didn’t know if he was worthy. I think that was it. I was confused. My carefully constructed facade crumbled. I could no longer play the part of a temptress, lord my minxy ways over him. I must look ridiculous, pitiful and surely, not the Warden and leader I had to be. I hated myself. This could not go on. 

“I have some Antivan brandy with me, excellent stuff. Perhaps some would help you?”

No, never. I did not want to be under the influence of anything. I denied his request, saying Oghren was the only one in the camp who needed the help of alcohol to bed a suitor and I had no intention of following his example, to which Zevran laughed heartily.  
I cleared my throat.

“I apologize for making you come here.”

“Now now, you don’t have to apologize for something that never happened.”

It took me a moment to get the joke, and I burst out laughing. I could salvage this, retain my dignity, and resume my authority. He did not own me nor did he want to. 

“Perhaps, we can continue this conversation another time,” I said, “when I am...more comfortable. That is, if I have not irreparably offended you.”

He smiled and donned his leathers.

“Certainly, my lady. I do, after all, enjoy a bit of a chase.”

He kissed my hand and gracefully exited my tent, with none of the camp the wiser. 

* * *

Our banter continued as before, thank Andraste. Zevran never intimated anything had ever changed, and if anything, seemed to redouble his efforts on me, which Leliana was eternally grateful for. 

It had been weeks after my embarrassing attempt at seduction, and we were on our way to Redcliffe for the first time when I stopped to talk to him at camp. He asked me, surprisingly, about poetry. 

“I grew up in an Alienage, sadly I know next to nothing about poetry, but I think that if I heard a good poem, I would know.”

He chuckled and apologized before reciting a few lines of something awful. Truly, whoever came up with it wasn’t skilled, but as he spoke he moved in close to me, his breath hot on my ear, fingers grazing my arms. I barely acknowledged the words, as terrible as they were, and let my heart race at his closeness. 

“What is that, sex poetry?” 

“So she claimed. She was trying to seduce me, you see, and somehow thought that this would actually convince me to spare her.” Unfortunate woman, I think I would be only more inspired to kill someone after that. 

“And so, you try to seduce me with it?” I asked, laughing. 

“Would it work?” he asked devilishly. 

Though the poem was awful, and his story not exactly laudable, I had to admit that it might. Or at least, him delivering any lines, regardless of how inane they were, in such a way would work. 

“I will have to keep that in mind.” He regarded my face, and frowned slightly. 

“I had thought that you might be cheered up by some naughty poetry.” He brushed a stray hair away and came close again to my face, looking into my eyes. I could not look away. 

“You simply look so...unhappy. Such an unflattering expression for such a lovely face.”

I tried to be coy, but his usual teasing tone was nowhere to be found behind the words, and I wanted to take them to heart. 

“Do you truly think I am lovely?” I asked, eyes wide. I was being vulnerable and potentially stupid but I didn’t care anymore, I needed to know. 

He tried to maintain an air of aloofness but there was tenderness under his words. 

“Who wouldn’t? You’re the kind of woman that stokes the lust in men and other women alike.” He paused before continuing, more quietly, “Surely you know this, and are playing with me.”

“I…” something stirred in me and I found my boldness. “I would never toy,” I said with a wink, “but it is fun to play with you.” I moved in closer and he grinned, laughing. 

“You look so tired, my dear. It is all this constant walking and fighting. I think I know what you need.”

“A horse?” I wanted to keep the conversation light, I didn’t want him to walk away. 

He laughed and suggested something more immediate. 

“Zevran, I don’t know about this…” my doubt plagued me, no matter how much I wanted to say yes. 

“What is there to fear, my Grey Warden? You deserve a little fun, do you not? Are you still nervous? Because I think that, now that I know I need to make this something more special to you, that I will more than make up for your concerns with the techniques I have picked up over the years. But,” he said this both coyly and, I knew, truthfulness, “This need be no complex thing. You are a beautiful and fascinating woman. I am… well, I am who I am. Is there any reason not to enjoy each others’ company? If you are not of a mind, however, it is no trag--”

“No!” I blurted out, making up my mind. I lowered my voice to avoid drawing attention from anyone nearby. “No, I am...definitely of a mind.” I would not lose this chance again. 

“Then why are we still talking?” Zevran chuckled. 

Instead of walking to my tent we walked to his, which he had pitched a bit farther from the fire than usual. Inside, he had filled it with soft cushions and blankets that I wondered where he had obtained them. 

There was no rush for my clothing, or for his. He actually started with a massage, removing my armour slowly to knead the muscles with warm and rough fingers. Again I breathed in his scent, smoky, musky and layered with clove and leather. While he massaged I relaxed and lost myself in the pressing of his fingers. And he hummed in his thick, throaty way. Eventually, I was entirely undressed but he still continued the massage, relaxing any and all tension. Occasionally he removed a piece of his own armour, or so it seemed from the sound, as I never really looked behind me, but it was gradual and I barely noticed. It did not cause me to panic. Eventually, after some time and when my body was warm, relaxed, and all my muscles were at ease, he massaged my neck once again, before taking it in one hand on the right side, and peppering some kisses along the left side, nibbling my ears. 

“You, Bridget Tabris,” he said, low and soft and rumbling in his chest pressed behind my back, “Are so incredibly beautiful.” He let my hair down and ran his fingers through it, sending tingles down my spine. I felt my nipples stiffen and eased against his back. I was not afraid this time, and my mind did not race, I simply wanted him to continue, to lose myself in him and his hands. I sighed softly and he rightly took it as encouragement. 

I immediately felt him stiffen at the base of my spine, and he chuckled.

“You feel these things you do to me? Wicked, wicked.”

I was speechless, tongue tied, but suddenly felt all of the Sex Goddess he claimed me to be, capable of causing a man to seek me out, pursue me, desire me. Of being worth it when there were a sea of other beautiful women with more experience and less qualms than me. I felt chosen and in charge; truly, even if he was seeking to pleasure me, I knew I was in charge. This was what I wanted. 

“I do not think I know what you mean, what are these things I do to you? Perhaps you should show me. You say a lot of women are beautiful, Zevran, but why should I believe you? You’ll have to use more than just some words, I think.” I said, and surprised myself with the seductive edge I cut into the tease, making it believable. 

He hardened even further, judging from the feeling at the small of my back and moaned in a lower rumble into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I looked down to see one hand exploring my left breast, teasing it, while the other extended between my legs where I was hot, and wet. The tattoos on his forearms rippled with his muscles when he flexed his fingers and moved them. Involuntarily, I gasped when his right hand found my wetness, instantly responding to the sensation. I arched my back which coincidentally provided him more access, which he took. My neck rested against his shoulder and he sucked on my earlobe. 

I’m not sure how long this continued, because I became utterly lost in it. Nothing else existed and when he suddenly stopped I cried out, shocked, and looked at him. 

“My lady, are you ready?”

“Yes, yes please,” I choked out.

The glowstones in the tent darkened ever so slightly and he shifted on his set of soft cushions, pulling me towards his form and lowering me onto him with so fluid a motion I hardly realized it was happening. 

A sound I can only describe as strangled erupted from me as he entered into me from underneath me. I did not see him but it didn’t matter as I felt all of him fill and stretch the slippery crevasse between my legs. I felt on fire, and goosebumps covered my skin. I wasn’t sure entirely what to do but instinct appeared to kick in and I rocked back and forth on him. I could tell he had begun to angle himself, and whatever he was doing, it was causing me to rub my most sensitive spot against his burning hot flesh. Oblivous to whatever might be outside, I moaned and gasped and closed my eyes. Losing myself to the rhythm of our bodies I could do nothing but focus on that point of pleasure, feeling it grow and grow until it was everything when suddenly it could grow no more and burst, radiating electricity throughout my body. 

I thought perhaps I might scream but instead a low, soft and helpless moan escaped through my lips. 

“Mmm,” was all I heard from Zevran before he switched our positions and brought himself over me, lifting my legs and switching the steady rhythm we had kept to a heavier pounding, that was quickly picking up speed. Barely over my own orgasm (for I am sure that it was nothing other than that), I now began to raise my voice as each pound sent new and stronger sensations throughout me. Before I could actually reach a shriek though, he brought his mouth down upon me and kissed me fiercely, our tongues entwining while his thrusting into me reached its maximum pace. He lifted his face from mine and looked into my eyes, not stopping. They burned and I tried to pull his lips to mine again but he refused and just grinned at me. I could do nothing but meet his gaze, thinking that I was going to burst, wanting him utterly, mind body and spirit, aching for him until I felt him let himself go, exploding into me and filling me. I closed my eyes and mimicked his rumbly “Mmmm.”

Satisfied, he allowed himself now to be pulled into another kiss, and we kissed for a moment before untangling ourselves. He had a bowl of scented water that he dipped a cloth into before tenderly wiping the sweat off of my body, kissing parts as he traveled.  
He teased me, saying this had all been inevitable since my refusal to kill him.

“You’re practically a public menace,” I said, chuckling. “But…what now?” I asked him. 

He paused and tensed. 

“Allow me to make it simple for you, my beautiful lady, what comes next is entirely up to you. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give.”

Up to me, yes, it was I could see. He did not wish to control or force me. But did he want something? I refused to bring up romance or love--I doubted he was the type. I still wanted to learn more about him, to uncover the layers. If I was going to love, to fall in love, that had to be earned on both sides. And was he worthy of that? What was I willing to give? I wondered if there was a hidden meaning to his words and thought how silly I was being, given that he was an assassin. I doubted he had never said anything in his entire career that didn’t have a double meaning. 

I was content with that for now, content with this closeness, this calmness and relaxation. If this is what he desired for now, I was certainly willing to give that, and to receive. 

“That sounds fine by me.” I said.

**Author's Note:**

> I started playing through Origins again and wanted to experience the Zevran romance this time, and am really enjoying it so. To get more into my characters I wrote up this little piece. I like to think it explains a bit about why she takes Zevran in, and her development of feelings for him. I haven't finished my playthrough, so I will write more as it develops! This is my very first piece on here, so hopefully I have used the appropriate tags and ratings and my formatting/grammar/spelling isn't too horrendous. I hope you enjoy :)


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